This isn’t exactly a shocking revelation, but I love seeing it in action. My fiancé works a job that normally feeds him three meals a day, and during mealtimes he and his coworkers are usually wrapped up in discussing ‘business.’ I prefer to cook for myself and I have a long commute, so I usually go to the gym/run errands after work and don’t eat dinner with him—we hang out afterward.
This past weekend, like most holiday weekends, his job wasn’t feeding him. So I cooked. Yesterday after church (Easter), I did vanilla cinnamon brioche French toast (his favorite) with syrup and fresh berries plus an egg scramble with peppers, onion, and chicken chorizo. Dinner was rosemary steak tips, garlic-rub pork loin, green beans, Brussels sprouts, and of course wine. Chocolate truffle brownies for dessert. Not fancy, all quick to prepare, but it’s amazing how much better cooking seems to make things. It makes him talk more about growing up and his childhood. He loves to come hug me from behind/grab my butt in the kitchen. The sex is better. And this is with a guy who is pretty ‘purple pill’ as things go (his mom was stay at home and I consider him very masculine, but he also thinks a woman with a career is sexy; he likes women who dress modestly but powerfully. Think Michelle Obama).
I’ve been kind of nervous about cooking every night when we move next year, when I start law school and he starts a new job that doesn’t feed him. But if cooking improves our domestic vibe this much generally... well, then I guess it’s time to add a crockpot and more pans to the registry.